


A Delicate Balance

by MossadHuntinDog



Series: The Sisters Veiled [1]
Category: Haunted Mansion (Ride)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 19:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30127917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MossadHuntinDog/pseuds/MossadHuntinDog
Summary: The first of three beautiful sisters from a wealthy Rhode Island family. Jilted by her circus lover, she followed, and remained for the next few years before falling for the son of a wealthy Southern family- a man who would marry her sister years after. Brought to his gorgeous New Orleans mansion, she came under the ire of a jealous, vengeful gypsy fortune teller, until she was facing a delicate balance between life and death.
Relationships: Master Gracey/Madame Leota (Disney), Master Gracey/Tightrope Girl
Series: The Sisters Veiled [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2217315





	A Delicate Balance

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Rifiuto: Non Mirena
> 
> A/N: According to The Ghost Gallery, a loose-leaf notebook written by WDW HM cast members, Lilian O'Malley Gracey was born in 1896 and died in 1937. Zanie wrote this in June 2001, after a trip to WDW, and she took a little creative liberty writing this one; not much, but a bit. She went back and rewrote this when the current bride was placed in the the mansion (Constance), and added in mentions of the original story for Phantom Manor when that came out. Written: 2001. Found: 2020.- Licia

_"In the swamp, poor Sally Slater..."_

Lillian Sarah O'Malley

1896 - 1915

Oh, how had her life come to this?

She had always been the most spirited of the sisters, even more so now, at the tender age of nineteen.

At birth, she was given the name Lilian Sarah O'Malley, the first of Master and Mistress O'Malley's young daughters. Though given every luxury she and her sisters could ever wish for- similar to their spoiled cousin, Priscilla, as they so lovingly called her- they preferred the simpler things in life, despite their wealth.

Or, at least, Sally did.

* * *

_All you wanted, all you longed for, was adventure... and love... a love like dear cousin Priscilla had found._

Her breath hitched as she struggled to regain her balance, and she lifted the parasol higher, the dripping white lace dancing softly with the movement. Her eyes searched the crowd, finding his among the guests, and she felt the tension begin to leave her shoulders. The crushed velvet of her bodice whispered softly with each steady heave of her chest, and she swore she could feel it keeping time with her rapidly beating heart.

It had been three years since she had donned this familiar costume, tied the fraying ribbons round her ankles and used the parasol to keep her balance, but she still remembered exactly what to do. Oh, what a silly little girl she had been, that long ago day back in eleven, when she'd climbed out her bedroom window a week after the circus had left, a week after pining away for her lost love, with a satchel of clothing and a handful of her best jewels that she would later use to pay her journey to Alabama.

And oh, how her heart had shattered, upon finally reaching the small town of Mobile, only to discover the premature death of her beloved-

* * *

_"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Are you lost, Mistress?"_

_"Looks like we've got a pretty little street rat who's stumbled into our midst."_

_"She's too pretty be a street rat-"_

_The oddities of the circus had frightened her only briefly, before she decided to stand up for herself. "I want to join the circus."_

_"You? Join the circus?"_

_"Do you have any talent, little miss?"_

_"What would a beauty such as you want with the likes of us circus folk-"_

_The looks and laughter were cold and callous, but she continued, playing the only card she had to use against them. "I... I'm... I'm a tightrope walker. Alex taught me."_

_The laughter suddenly died, as every head turned to her. "Alex?" She furrowed a brow, searching for the voice, this one new, and after a moment, the crowd of circus folk parted. "How do you know Alex Slater?" The owner of the voice was a woman of tall stature, with dusky skin and piercing dark eyes. She wore a skirt of layered material, a worn blouse falling from her shoulders, exposing the subtle hint of her ample cleavage. Her long hair was pulled back into a gathering of curls, and the makeup she wore was thick and heavy, making her older than her thirty years. "How, do you know young Alex?"_

_"I... I..." She stopped, frozen briefly under the woman's stare, before pulling herself to her full height and lifting her chin. "He is..." She stopped, thinking. "My husband."_

_"Your husband?" The woman lifted her eyebrows in disbelief. "We were not aware our Alex was married."_

_Her gaze locked on the woman's. "We kept it secret."_

_"Of course." A quick glance over her. "And... what exactly is the name of Alex's young bride?" Before she could speak, the woman was in front of her, reaching up to lift her chin to study her. She swallowed._

_"_ _Sally. Sally Slater." Her heart began to pound within her ears. "And you are?"_

_The woman smiled softly. "I am Leota."_

_"Nice to meet you." Her whisper was soft, before she remembered. "Alex... my husband. Take me to my husband, please. He'll want to see-"_

_"Oh, I'm so sorry, Madam... Slater." Leota whispered, reaching up to stroke her fingers through Sally's hair. "But poor Alex was killed not long ago in an accident involving one of the lions."_

_She stepped back, her heart shattering, her breath catching. "K... killed? No..."_

_"I'm afraid so. I'm so sorry, Madame Slater." She didn't notice as Leota turned, heading back towards her caravan, didn't hear her as she called out, "You may stay, Madame Slater. We could always use a tightrope act."_

* * *

His bright blue gaze steadied her heart, and she took another step, and another, moving closer and closer to the center of the tightrope. In the peripheral of her vision, she could just make out the gentle rippling of the water, and for the briefest of moments, she wondered what it could be, lurking within the water.

Crocodiles? Alligators? She couldn't remember.

She found his gaze again, and smiled, relieved to be back in his sights as she continued. He may not have been her beloved Alex, but he had always treated her kindly, lovingly, for she was his little _papiyon_ \- his delicate little butterfly, as was the translation from Creole to English, for the way she could balance upon a rope. And she adored the nickname, as she adored him.

* * *

_It had been no more than a year of her residing with the circus, as they went from town to town, performing for the masses. In that short time, she had managed to fashion herself a costume- a beautiful pleated white skirt decorated in rows of flowers radiating from the waist down, given its fullness by the old crinoline she had found in a shop in one of the towns they had stopped in; the bodice of crushed, dark purple velvet and matching capelet hugged her figure and accented her eighteen inch waist. The lilac puffed sleeves topped with delicate white lace and tied with lilac bows matched the lilac of her slippers, right down to the delicate ribbons, and she'd topped it off with the parasol she had brought along- which had become her signature._

_She mesmerized the crowds as she walked the tightrope, stopping often to balance on the toes of one foot, parasol raised high, other arm to help keep her balance. The three buns she worked her hair into- a topknot and two side buns- added to the ethereal beauty of the mysterious_ Miss Sally Slater, Tightrope Walker.

_It was in the spring of twelve, when she'd seen him in the audience; blue eyes mesmerized as she stepped out onto the tightrope and began her act. At first, she believed it to be nothing more than infatuation, that which all men had for her upon seeing her balanced upon the rope strung beneath her feet. She had truly loved Alex, and her time with the circus kept her close to him, even though he'd passed on._

_He had caught up with her after the circus finished, wish to speak with her, and she had politely obliged him, accepting his praises of her act quietly and with a gentle smile, believing it to be nothing more than infatuation. But he returned the next night, and the next, and the next, simply to watch her perform. And then, one cool evening after the circus had finished for the night, he had caught her by the arm, tugging her into the shadows of a nearby grove of trees._

_But instead of screaming, she remained silent, having found herself staring into the brightest of blue eyes she'd ever seen. His copper hair was slicked back away from his face, and he wore a gentle smile on his face. And when he spoke, his voice was as smooth as melted honeycomb. "I have watched you, every night, as you balance and dance upon that rope, my heart in my throat in fear that you'll fall. But every night you don't."_

_She blushed, lowering her gaze. "I... I am quite good at my craft, Monsieur."_

_"Gracey. George Gracey."_

_She glanced at his face before lowering her gaze again. "Monsieur Gracey."_

_"Please look at me, Mademoiselle." Slowly, she did, and her heart skipped a beat. It was a sensation she hadn't felt since Alex had left with the circus the year prior, leaving her behind. A moment passed, before he reached out, gently brushing his knuckles against her cheek, and she turned at the touch. "I do believe I have fallen in love with you, Maemoiselle Slater."_

_She met his gaze, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. Were she honest with herself, she would admit that she had fallen for him as well, for she'd been quite taken with the man who had watched her from the audience every night; blue eyes shining in the darkness. "I... believe I have fallen in love with you, too."_

* * *

It had been as whirlwind as a marriage could get. The circus had only stayed in town for two weeks, and George had been at every performance, those entire two weeks. Though it had pained her to leave the circus and the family she had made, but that summer, she had married him. It hadn't been the lavish ceremony her parents would have expected; instead, it was quiet, just them and a local minister. George had brought her back to his family mansion on the eve of their wedding night.

Oh, she had never seen a mansion as beautiful as the one George's family owned. The home of her childhood had been lavish, but there had been a calm simplicity about it as well, but this one- gorgeous Romanesque columns stood guard at the front, and was about as antebellum as one could get, being a Southern plantation house.

And it had quickly become her home.

As Mistress Gracey, she had full run of the mansion and grounds, and she quickly forgot about her lift with the circus, for she was finally happy.

Her gaze met his, and she smiled, rising up onto her toes and proceeding to lift one leg into front _arabesque_ before shifting her weight slowly and turning so her back and extended leg were to those watching; an old trick she had spent countless nights practicing and then doing during her time in the circus. When she turned back to face her audience, she felt her gaze shift.

It latched onto Madame, and she felt her heart stall.

* * *

_Their happiness did not last long._

_George began to disappear most nights, leaving her alone and cold within their marriage bed; though he always returned before dawn, slipping beneath the blankets of their bed with a kiss to her shoulder and a soft, "_ Bel papiyon mwen _, how I love you."_ _And always, she would glance over her shoulder as he slipped an arm around her waist, and he made a point of kissing her sweetly on the mouth before curling around her, as though that would make up for abandoning her to the cold and loneliness of their marriage bed._

_And then, five months into their marriage, a familiar face appeared at the door of their home. The shock she felt as the sight of the fortune teller, her former circus-mate, with a growing bulge beneath her skirts. It had taken her several minutes to regain her composure, before she was finally able to call for her husband. George had rushed to her side, horrified to see the older woman standing before them. Leota placed one hand upon her back, and the other upon her belly._

_"Will you not invite an expecting woman inside, Master and..." Leota's gaze slowly rove over her. "_ Mistress _Gracey."_

_Despite everything in her screaming to slam the door and bar her from entering, she stepped aside, unable to take her eyes off the older woman._

_In the months leading up to the birth of Leota's child, she found herself growing more and more resentful towards the gypsy woman. She had been wary of her during her time with the circus, fearing that if the woman wanted, she could truly end Sally's life, and so she had done her best to stay away. Something about the woman unnerved her, and on the night of the babe's arrival, she found herself hiding out in the attic, hands over her ears to block out the gypsy woman's screams of pain, and praying silently for either the mother or babe or both to die in childbirth._

_Her prayers went unanswered; Leota delivered to the world a healthy daughter, whom she named Leota, but whom everyone called 'Little' Leota- all except her, who simply referred to her as 'that child'. She was not so stupid a woman to not miss the similarities between Little Leota and her husband- especailly when the child reached the age of being able to talk. For every time Little Leota would talk, her beloved George would fall silent._

_As the months rolled by and the girl continued to grow, she began to slip back into her familiar melancholy. Despite her spiritedness, she had always been prone to bouts of melancholy, but always, she had been able to push it aside for the sake of others._

_Until now._

* * *

As she met the Madame's gaze, she now understood that her worst fears were realized; Little Leota- that demon child as she had taken to referring to her as of late- had come from her husband's seed. Her beloved, darling George, had fathered the bastard child of that horrid gypsy woman; by neglecting her needs, he had fulfilled Leota's, coming at her every beck and call, until she acted as though _she_ were Mistress of the Gracey Manor- not Sally.

She had begged and pleaded with George to remove both Leota and her bastard from the property- cast them out, permanently, so they could return to the happiness they had known so early in their marriage three years previous, but he refused, screaming at her that she had to get used to sharing their home with the 'Mistress of the Manor'.

It had been a slap in the face, harder than any fall from a tightrope.

George had not realized what he'd said until the party was in full swing, when he'd pulled her aside and begged her forgiveness. She had merely met his gaze, searching for the man she had fallen in love with. Not finding him, she had pulled away, fleeing into the study, where Leota found her, curled upon the sofa near tears.

"Hush, sweet Lillian." She had looked up; it had been years since anyone had called her Lillian. So long it'd been, that it took her a few moments to realize that _she_ was Lillian- but how had Leota _known_? "Madame Leota knows all, my dear." She pulled away as the woman reached out to stroke her fingers over the young wife's cheeks. "I have an idea. What about you do a performance for our guests?"

"A... performance?" She had sniffled, and Leota had nodded.

"Yes. Your old tightrope routine, as you used to do when we were in the circus. Remember?"

A moment passed. "Yes... I... I believe I do remember." She nodded. Yes, that's a good idea. I will go get changed."

* * *

 _"Sally, my love, my_ papiyon _, you don't have to do this-" She had glanced over her shoulder, meeting Leota's gaze, before turning back to him. She reached up gloved hands to caress his cheeks._

_"I will be fine, George. I have done this before, countless times."_

_"But that was years ago-"_

_She rose slightly, brushing a soft kiss to his mouth. "Do not worry, please. I shall be fine. Just come back to me." His brow had furrowed in confusion at her words, as she backed up and grabbed her parasol, making her way towards the tightrope. George followed, attempting to stop her, but Leota laid a hand on his arm._

_"_ Mademoiselle _..._ Lillian _will be fine,_ Monsieur _."_

 _He turned to her. "_ Lillian _? Who-"_

_But soft applause drew his attention back to the tightrope his wife had just climbed onto. He would not put the pieces together until it was far too late._

* * *

Her gaze shifted from Madame Leota's to her husband's, stopping at the sight of her hand on his arm; so natural, so comforting, as though it belonged there. Her heart began to constrict, and she swallowed thickly, trying not to lose her concentration. The water shifted below her, and she slowly lowered her feet to the rope, shifting until the parasol was over her right shoulder. She tilted her head slightly to the side, gaze narrowing as she studied the pair in her makeshift audience.

How could she have been so _stupid_? Stupid, _stupid_ little girl. If it was not clear to her now, then it had to have been clear the moment that little demon slid out from between that snake's legs. Little Leota was the bastard offspring of her George, and her bitch of a mother had managed to weasel her way not just into their manor, but into their lives. It was clear to her now- so, so clear.

Leota was the Mistress of the house, and she, Sally Slater, born Lillian Sarah O'Malley, was the interloper.

The sound of water splashing caught her attention, and she turned her gaze towards the water below her; to the thing in the water. The green scales of a-

Her head snapped back up, and she caught Leota's gaze, moving to do a _pique_ , balancing perfectly on one foot, parasol raised and arm outstretched.

* * *

Something inside her snapped, and she managed to tear her gaze from Leota's. It shifted to George's, and the realization of what he'd figured out was written clear across his face. She felt the unravelling of the rope she balanced upon before she heard it. As she glanced down quickly, she was horrified to see the jaws of a giant alligator open and waiting-

Her head lifted, and she met George's gaze, and a sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth; _'I love you'_ leaving her lips like the softest of breezes. She felt the rope finally give way, the last image in her mind's eye as she met the alligator's gaping jaw, that of her beloved husband, who, despite everything, she still loved. He tried to rush to her, but he was held back; his screams echoed across the swamp, the name she had long since forgotten leaving his lips.

_"No! Lillian!"_

* * *

George Gracey commissioned a portrait of his beloved wife, his beautiful Lillian, to be done after her death. He asked that she be painted in her tightrope walking costume, for that was what she had been wearing when he had first fallen in love with her, and it had been what she'd been wearing when he'd lost her. Upon completion, he had it hanged in the gallery, though, because the walls of the mansion continuously moved up and down, enchanted as they were, though he did not know why, only the top half of her portrait would be seen completely; the rest of the portrait would be revealed whenever the walls felt like moving.

He often came into the gallery and talked to the portrait, despite knowing she would never again reply. Like the act that had entranced him, he returned to stare at her portrait, drinking in her beautiful features. Oh, how he loved her, his mysterious Lillian, his beautiful, spirited Sally. They were one and the same, and he didn't understand how he could have not seen that until it was too late.

He took to avoiding Little Leota, for the child unnerved him, even more than her mother did, and he soon began to see that his late wife had been right, in every aspect. It wasn't until he heard Little Leota singing a horrendous little rhyme that he finally began to understand _exactly_ what had happened the day of his wife's death, and that perhaps, it _wasn't_ the accident Madame Leota claimed it to be.

_"... was eaten by an alligator."_


End file.
